


Moonlight Curtains

by Doilooklikeicareatall



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Before His Last Vow, But Sherlock doesn't want him there, But he really does, Canon Divergence- Season 3, Gen, John's in his head, Pining, Post- The Sign of Three, Recreational Drug Use, Unrequited Love, What a bloody mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:15:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doilooklikeicareatall/pseuds/Doilooklikeicareatall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And I could just… slide… it in. Feel the memories slip away. Feel myself become nothing more than a body and a mind."</p>
<p>Sherlock leaves the wedding early, and makes a decision. But his faithful blogger is there for him. <br/>---<br/>This fic could possibly be triggering, I have no clue. Not beta'd or anything, so point out any mistakes I may have made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight Curtains

It was hard. Doing this, it was… it was really hard. I know that nothing good can possibly come of this. Not anymore, not after… after him. He’d changed things, made it harder to give in, him and his bloody _goodness_ , like it was going to change a thing. Like it’s going to change the utter mess I’ve turned into.

That needle looks awfully tempting right now. Silvery in the glowing light of the moon, streaming through the flat’s open window. I could just… pick it up. Admire it for a bit. I know the solution well. C17H21NO4. Cocaine. A nice little seven-percent solution. The milky substance gleamed in the light, pearly opalescence in the remote starlight that was only barely visible in London.  I could find a vein with ease, I did it almost daily when I was younger. And I could just… _slide_ … it in. Feel the memories slip away. Feel myself become nothing more than a body and a mind. No Sherlock Holmes, just a never ending sense of peace.

**_Sherlock, this isn’t the way._** Shut up, John. This isn’t your fight anymore.

**_It could still be._** No, it can’t. You have Mary, you have a child, I am nothing more than a friend you will forget in time.

**_But what if you aren’t? What if you’re more to me, Sherlock?_**   Shut **up**. You’re lying to me. You’re not real, I cooked you up while I was gone.

**_Sherlock, stop. I’m here for you, this isn’t the way._** You’re a bloody defence mechanism, hiding behind the only man I ever cared for. You’re just my mind, telling me to go back to being miserable, to go back to **pining** over him.

**_You don’t have to pine over me, I’m here. I’ll always be here._** No. You won’t. You’re gone, John. I have nothing left of you but memories.

**_I’m still your friend, I’ll never leave._** Shut up. Shut up, John. You’re not real. You’re my mind. Nothing more, nothing less. And you’re tearing me apart. Just… let me forget this. For a while at least.

**_Don’t forget me, Sherlock._** I **have** to. There’s no other choice but to forget you, to delete it all. I can’t do this. Mycroft was right, he was always right. I can’t get involved, should never have gotten involved. You’ve ruined me. I can’t even think straight anymore without you in my head.

**_Sherlock, please. You mean more to me than anything in the world, I can’t see you destroy yourself like this._** Stop it. Now. You are nothing more than a fanciful delusion, my subconscious trying to stop me. I won’t listen to you.

I take my belt out of the pale grey belt loops, wrapping it tightly about my forearm, and securing it in place, ignoring his frantic whispers to me. He was only ever a whisper, or a soft murmur, stuck in my head, always in my head. John. Always John, why always him? Couldn’t someone else torment me? My brother. Irene. God, even Lestrade would be better than this. Than his soft voice, so scared, asking, pleading with me to stop. Telling me what I desperately want to hear. I take another look at the syringe, and the voice grows louder, still only at a murmur.

**_Sherlock, no._ **

**_I’ve always loved you, you know that, you’ve always known, now stop this._ **

**_Sherlock, please, for me. Just stop this._** That one was uncalled for, a choked up whisper from over 2 years ago, on a day I’d tried so hard to forget.

**_Mary will understand, she knows I need you._ **

**_Stay away from the syringe, Sherlock._ **

**_You’re better than this._ **

“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” I scream at the empty flat, the walls that contain a life I’ll never have again. I tear at my hair, curled up in my seat, my arm going slightly numb. “I CAN’T TAKE IT, JOHN! ALRIGHT?! YOU ARE TOO _MUCH_ FOR ME, AND I NEED TO FORGET, JUST FOR A _LITTLE WHILE_ , THAT I WILL NEVER, _EVER_ HAVE YOU!” I bury my face in my knees, my tremor turning into full-blown shuddering, teeth chattering viciously.

The syringe is right there. I can just pick it up, slide it in, and John will go away. Everything will. I will be nothing but a body and mind. I will be normal. No deducing, or experiments, or skulls on the mantle. I will be nothing, and I will be free, even if only for a little. Even if I will wake up tomorrow, cold and alone, needing another hit. I’ll sell everything in the flat, leave, live on the streets. Away from here. From the memories. From dancing lessons, late night drunken smiles, tea and violins- I cut myself off with a wail, throwing my head back, and growling, “It’s all in my head, I can’t get it out. I need it out, I can’t take these memories anymore.”

The syringe is in my hand now, and I have no idea how it got there. My fingers on the plunger. _Steady now, Sherlock, don’t want to waste a drop._ My gaze drops to my arm, I am tapping a vein without even noticing. I’m just on autopilot now, nothing but a machine.

A machine. That’s all I am. All I can be. I can’t be human, it hurts too much to be human. Sentiment is a weakness I’ve fallen prey to, and I cannot fall prey to it again. If I cannot be human, I will be what he told me I was. I will be a machine, a machine that will have to live with the fact that John Watson is happy without it. Without me. He’s happy without me. Moving on, as he should. He deserves to be happy, so damn much.

And then the needle is sliding in, and the protests drift from my mind, memories and thoughts going hazy under the pleasant curtain of the moonlight liquid.

Yes, this is how I should stay.

Forever behind a curtain, a moonlight curtain, away from the memories. Away from all of it.

Because some things are best left hidden behind curtains, machines that go wrong. I went wrong.

Everything is wrong.

I miss John.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading through the shitfest of angst I just made you deal with, hope you liked it somewhat.  
> If you have any ideas for a new story, if you wanna point out my bad spelling and grammar, or if you just wanna say hi, my email is youcanfindmein221b@gmail.com now. I changed it after a bit because my personal account was getting slightly crowded.  
> \---  
> Aside from that, comments and kudos are very appreciated, and I hope you all have a lovely day! <3


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